LAGOS, NIGERIA
FRIDAY, 11:30 A.M. WEST AFRICA TIME (6:30 A.M. EST)
What’s with the traffic?” Jessica huffed.
“Welcome to Lagos,” her contact said from the driver’s seat, waving at the parking lot of cars. Out the windshield, they could see an endless caravan of vehicles stretched ahead of them.
“How do you ever run SDRs here?” she asked, looking out the back window to find another long line of cars and trucks. “How can you even move?”
“We have our own ways to run surveillance detection routes, ma’am. Would you like me to take the next exit and double back?”
“Negative. No time.” Jessica slumped back in her seat and fidgeted with her phone. “How much longer to the safe house?”
“I couldn’t say, ma’am. Hopefully not more than another hour,” he said.
That’s too long, she thought. She still had too much to do, too many pieces to put in place. Just sitting here wasn’t an option. She had to improvise.
“Do you have all the materials I requested?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re in the trunk.”
“Pull over.”
“Ma’am?”
“Pull over!” she ordered. The driver veered the car to the side of the road.
“Now get out,” she said, stepping from the car and opening the driver’s door. “You find a taxi. I’m taking the car.”
“Ma’am, are you sure this is a good idea? Lagos is not the kind of place—”
“Give me your shirt,” she demanded.
“Ma’am?”
“Your shirt. Give it to me now.”
The driver, now thoroughly confused, unbuttoned his shirt and sheepishly held it out. Jessica grabbed it, slipped behind the wheel, and slammed the door shut. She lurched the car into the sea of pedestrian traffic and leaned on the horn. Once she was on her way and the driver far behind in the rearview mirror, she punched a number into her phone.
“Aaay,” Sunday answered.
“Drop everything,” Jessica said over the sound of her honking. “I’ve got a new plan and I need your help.”
—
Six minutes later, in another part of the city, Judd Ryker was sitting on the floor in the back of a cramped windowless van when his phone rang.
“Sunday, I don’t have time to talk,” he said, his body bobbing from side to side as the van rumbled around potholes.
“Dr. Ryker, are you on your way to the airport?”
“Yes,” Judd said, shrugging toward Isabella, who was crouched next to him. “How do you know that?”
“That’s why I’m calling,” Sunday said. “Are you taking Babatunde to Murtala Airport?”
“Maybe,” he said, stealing a glance at the huge basketball star sitting cross-legged across from him. “Why are you asking?”
“Are you with Judge Akinola?”
Judd made eye contact with Bola. “What’s . . . going on, Sunday? How do you know all of this?”
“Do you have security with you?”
“Yes, yes.” Judd was getting nervous with all the questioning. “We’re in an undercover vehicle heading to the airport and we have diplomatic security with us. What’s the problem?”
“You have to change routes,” Sunday insisted.
“What?”
“We have real-time intel chatter that Bola Akinola is the target of an assassination plot. Right now. You’re driving straight into an ambush.”
“What chatter?”
“You know I can’t say. You need to listen to me, Dr. Ryker.”
“How could anyone know our vehicle? How would anyone even know that the judge is with us?”
“I knew,” Sunday said. “That’s why I need you to listen and follow my instructions. I’m tracking your location right now.”
“How?”
“Don’t take the Third Mainland Bridge. Get off the expressways.”
“What?”
“Tell the driver now. Take the next exit to the west.”
“If we’re walking into danger—”
“What danger?” Isabella interrupted.
“Dr. Ryker, for your own safety,” Sunday pleaded. “I’ve mapped a safer route. I’ll talk you through it. Tell the driver to take the next exit. Right. Now.”
“Tell me what danger, Judd,” Isabella demanded. “Qué carajos! What the hell is going on?”
The line buzzed loudly and then went silent. “Sunday? Sunday?” Judd called into the dead phone.
“Who the hell is Sunday?” Isabella snarled.
“We need to change course,” Judd barked. “Stop the van.”
Isabella was about to unleash a barrage of new questions, when Judd’s phone rang again. Thank goodness, he thought. Until he saw the caller ID. Oh, no.
“What now?” Isabella asked.
“Please, Judd, tell us what is happening,” Bola asked calmly. Tunde Babatunde nodded nervously and his long frame leaned forward.
“I have to take this,” Judd said, and pressed the ANSWER button. “This is Ryker.”
“Ryker, are we exposed?” Landon Parker demanded.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Your fuckup with the press. The Babatunde photo that’s likely running in the newspapers tomorrow. Are we exposed?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know. Can I call you back?”
“I need to know who paid off the kidnappers.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You don’t know? Or are you telling me it’s better not to ask?”
“Sir, this is not a good time for—”
“You’re taking Babatunde to the airport, right?”
“I’ll call you back, sir. I promise. I have to get off the phone now.”
“Ryker, while you’re playing cloak and dagger, I’ve got the FBI on the other line. I need to confirm that Babatunde is in safe custody and we’re all straight with the Nigerians. The FBI’s ready to release the attack dogs against a major international crime target. I’m holding the leash until you confirm that Babatunde is safe and on his way back. Are you telling me I can let the dogs off the leash?”
“Yes, sir,” Judd said. He was about to hang up when Parker spoke up.
“One more thing, Ryker. I know I told you before that you could help this Judge Akeema-something-or-other.”
“Bola Akinola,” Judd said.
“That’s off.”
“Sir?” Judd said, locking eyes with Bola.
“Cut him loose.”
“I don’t think that’s—”
“He’s a liability,” Parker snapped. “The Nigerian attorney general has passed new evidence to us through their ambassador here in Washington that looks pretty bad for your judge. Have you seen the press reports? Looks like he’s dirty and we need to keep our distance. I just spoke with Ambassador Katsina and she says—”
“Katsina? You can’t believe anything she’s telling you.”
“You don’t have the big picture, Ryker. You’re going to have to take my word for it that this Akinola is bad news. Katsina is in and Akinola is out. We cannot be associated with him. You got that?”
“Sir—”
“I want you back here, Ryker. Back on the South China Sea.”
“Sir, if I may—”
“You heard me, Ryker. That’s an order. Cut the judge loose before it gets any worse. You can’t get played by someone taking advantage of his contacts in the United States for protection.”
“But, sir—”
“Look, Ryker. There’s going to be an inquiry about this whole hostage ransom thing. We need to show that we’ve been prudent here. If it comes to a congressional hearing, I need to be able to swear on the Bible that we immediately cut ties once we learned the judge was corrupt.”
“We don’t know that’s true—”
“They’ve issued an arrest warrant and the Nigerian federal police are now hunting for him. An Interpol notice will go out within the hour. Every airport on the planet will be on watch. In fact, if this Judge Akinola calls you again, advise him to turn himself in. And if you see him, have diplomatic security detain him. Just do it, Ryker.”
The line went dead.
“Judd.” Isabella was exasperated. “What the hell is going on?”